Erasing a Niche
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: While Roarke takes Rogan with him to investigate possible developments in the battle against amakarna and black lightning, Leslie finds herself running the island for a few weekends...but no one anticipates how it will end up or where it will go. Third in the "Niches" story arc
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_I decided to try turning this into a sort of series, connecting the stories by using the word "niche" in their titles. No telling yet where it will all end...but this story will undoubtedly open up some future possibilities! Enjoy...as always, I appreciate feedback!_

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><p>§ § § - September 6, 2008<p>

"I still can't believe I let you talk me into this." Christian lounged against the railing of the main-house veranda, glowering at Leslie as if she had caused their world to cave in somehow. "My employees have had to work from home almost since that stink beetle wreaked havoc in my office...and poor Darius has nothing to do."

Leslie sighed. "Christian, don't look at me like that. It's not like you have to come to the plane dock with me. If you're that upset, why don't you go rent a hazmat suit and charge into your office and see what can be salvaged in there? Just make sure someone's around to watch the triplets, that's all I ask." She turned toward the steps, where her three assistants stood waiting with eager eyes: Michiko, Lauren and an extremely eager Noelle Tokita, who had landed the much-coveted (by the island kids) go-fer slot. Maureen had reported a few days before that this had caused an apparent breakdown in relations between Noelle and Brianna, who in their teens seemed to be more competitive than ever. Leslie still remembered their first real fight over who got to use an invisibility potion for their class Halloween party when they were in the second grade. Leslie needed only one go-fer, though; and when Noelle had managed to beat Brianna to the punch, Maureen had remarked wryly that she thought it was only fair since Brianna tended to get the drop on Noelle in almost every other area - boys, popularity, extroversion, sometimes even extra babysitting privileges for the triplets if Christian and Leslie happened to need them outside the weekends.

"Come on, Christian, don't be a party pooper," Lauren said, grinning. "If you say you never wanted anything to do with this whole adventure in the first place, I won't believe it."

"Me either, not for a second," Michiko agreed.

Annoyed, Christian rolled his eyes. "I'm not too appreciative of jokes at my expense right now. My business here on the island has vanished since that incident with the beetle, and I'm beginning to worry." He squinted at Leslie. "And what's a 'hazmat' suit?"

"Hazardous material," Leslie said. "Sort of a moonsuit. Just go into town and see if anyone can tell you anything - or better yet, take the car and go down to the ferry terminal, and catch the next boat to Coral Island. Somebody on the Air Force base there might be able to help you."

"You were serious about the hazmat suit?" Lauren asked, breaking into laughter.

"Well, I can't think of anything else," Leslie said, shrugging. "He's been fretting since Wednesday when nobody at all would come into the office, and he ended up having to close it down again. I'd be amazed if everything hasn't melted from the smell by now." A rover, driven by David Omamara, hove into view at last and she grinned. "Well, there's our ride. It's up to you, Christian - you can either stay here and man the phone, or go hunt down the moonsuit and I'll have Noelle here do it."

"Acchh..." Christian made a disgusted noise and waved a hand at them, shaking his head. "Why be a sadist and deprive poor Noelle of a chance to meet guests at the plane, the way you did when you were that age? I'll keep an eye on things here, but once you get back, I'll be gone."

"Suit yourself," said Leslie and waved at him. "See you in a while. Well, let's go." She slipped into the front seat while Michiko and Lauren, with Noelle sandwiched between them, crowded into the middle seat, and they were off to the dock. Leslie had to squelch abdominal jitters the whole way; it felt as if her stomach had been invaded by hyperactive centipedes. She wondered where Roarke and Rogan were now, and what was going on with them.

‡ ‡ ‡ - near Grottaminarda, Italy

Rogan Callaghan had never been to this part of the world before, and as he and Roarke stepped out of a taxi in front of a huge old villa that appeared to date from the Roman Empire, he pivoted in several full circles, trying to take in everything. He'd had any number of surprises since first being asked to accompany Roarke on this mission, not the least of which was the fact that some unknown power-that-was had allowed Roarke to leave his island in the first place. But the reason was sufficient, and now here they were, at what Roarke had told his cousin's son was the home of the LiSciola family. Off the island, Roarke was not wearing his trademark white suit; instead he was dressed a little more casually, conceding to the Mediterranean climate of late summer with tan cotton slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt.

Roarke noticed Rogan's fascination and chuckled. "You'll have plenty of time to take in the scenery," he assured the younger man. "Remember, we're to be here for a month."

"You'd be surprised how fast a month can pass you by, uncle," Rogan observed, still taking in their surroundings. "Now, tell me again what we're doing here, would you?"

"I'll take care of that," said a new voice, and Roarke drew himself up to his full height while Rogan spun around to see who had spoken. Count LiSciola had changed no more than Roarke ever had; Christian would have recognized his one-time father-in-law with no trouble at all. He still wore a cape over a dark suit, curiously overdressed for the climate, but clearly under the impression that he had an image to maintain. "Roarke, good of you to come." He eyed Rogan and scowled suddenly. "Rogan Callaghan...now I remember. You stole the Lilla Jordsö amakarna account from me, you young thief."

Rogan grinned unrepentantly. "And glad I am that I did it, too. Your attitude leaves a fair amount to be desired, and we reserve the right to go straight back to Fantasy Island if we decide you aren't being suitably hospitable."

LiSciola glared at him, but gave in anyway. "Well, as long as you're here, you might as well come inside. Follow me." He turned and began climbing the wide stone staircase he'd just descended, his shoes clacking on the steps as if in perpetual complaint. Roarke and Rogan glanced at each other before starting up after the count; in their wake came the taxi driver with two bags for each of the travelers.

They climbed nearly two dozen steps before coming out on a huge stonework piazza that afforded them a spectacular view of the hilly Italian countryside. Scattered below the little tor on which the villa rested was a small but sprawling village; everything was vibrantly green, and the air seemed to smell like wine. Scrolled-iron chairs and tables dotted the piazza, whose walls were thickly festooned with ivy vines. LiSciola bypassed all this, leading them through one of a series of arches supporting a roofed section of the piazza and then inside through a heavy sliding glass door. The room they entered was paved with terra-cotta flagstones, worn smooth by countless years of being trod upon, and sparsely furnished; its outer walls were mostly windows. The wall across from the glass door was covered with an elaborate mural showing scenes of life in Italy circa the height of the Roman Empire, and Rogan wondered idly who had painted it - likely some long-dead scion of the nearly extinct LiSciola family.

From beyond an open door in the middle of the mural called a female voice in Italian, and then a few seconds later, a woman in her thirties popped out, leading a small boy by the hand. When she saw who was there, she gasped and switched to English. "Mr. Roarke! I didn't think you would come! How are Christian and Leslie?"

"Quite well and happy together, Marina, thank you," Roarke said with a warm smile. "And you?"

"I could be better," Marina LiSciola Ognissanti said, flicking a glance at her father and then over her shoulder before clearing her throat. "Papa, don't stand there looking so sour. Let's show Mr. Roarke and Rogan where they are to sleep while they're here."

"What happened to that damned young weed of yours?" LiSciola asked in what sounded like a question so ritual that he had long since grown weary from asking it. "Locked up in the lab again, I don't doubt."

Marina picked up the child and settled him on one hip. "No, he left yesterday. We'll be able to speak with Rogan and Mr. Roarke without interruption. I'll show them to their rooms. Maybe by now Fiorenza will have the evening meal ready, and I'm sure our esteemed guests are hungry after all their traveling." She turned to Roarke and Rogan. "Come with me, will you? We have your rooms waiting for you."

Marina led them through a sprawling living room, packed far too full of furnishings for the men's taste, and up a flight of stairs, then to a pair of bedrooms which both looked out over the rolling valley and the town of Grottaminarda. "Here you are. These rooms share a bathroom. If you need anything at all, simply say so. I'll check on the evening meal and come back to let you know. Meanwhile, do make yourselves at home."

"Your son?" Rogan inquired before she could go, gesturing at the little boy.

"Yes…his name is Lucan and he is three years old." Marina smiled at her little son and nuzzled his hair; the child burrowed his head into her neck, but refused to stop staring at the visitors with a look much too solemn for such a little boy. As if unheeding, Marina tossed them a smile and bustled off with him.

"Remarkably calm and collected, isn't she?" Rogan observed, pausing in the middle of the bathroom doorway with a suitcase in each hand.

"It's no more than a façade," Roarke said softly, staring after Marina for a moment, then pulling himself back into the moment and clearing his throat. "We'd better settle in now while we have the opportunity. I have a great many questions for both Marina and the count…and it's imperative that they have as many answers as possible."

Within an hour the meal was on the table, and Marina had sent her son off to play in another room, having fed him earlier while Roarke and Rogan had rested for a while in their rooms. LiSciola's forehead was etched with lines from what appeared to be a permanent scowl; and for the first time, Marina herself looked nervous. "What can you tell us?" Roarke queried after he and Rogan had asked her to pass on their compliments on the meal to the family cook, Fiorenza.

"That weed I have to call my son-in-law," LiSciola muttered, glaring at his plate. "I never did like that boy, Marina."

"Papa, that's not relevant," Marina said sharply and turned to Roarke with a pleading look. "I hope you can help. You may be aware that Giancarlo went into the black-lightning trade some years ago."

Roarke nodded, a grim shadow settling over his features. "Yes, I discovered it after one of Giancarlo's middlemen got involved in some highly illegal activities on my island and I was forced to have him deported to Samoa. There have been a few other brushes with the drug as well, but it appears that your husband has been keeping his activities quiet."

Marina nodded. "Mostly, yes. Sometimes one of his distributors gets careless, or a customer gets in over his head and makes the news, but most of the time he manages to conduct his business without interference from the authorities."

"Damned weed," muttered LiSciola again.

"Where is the, uh, weed right now?" Rogan asked, with a look of wry amusement.

Marina cleared her throat. "He's on a collection run…that's what he calls it when he goes to his distributors for the money they owe him. Each month he goes to Rome and makes certain that all the money he's owed is paid him—in cash, I might add. When he comes back, he closes himself in the laboratory to be sure that the distillation apparatus is working properly. He is scheduled to return in thirty days." She sighed, a defeated look crossing her face. "And it will all start anew."

"What will?" Rogan asked.

LiSciola grunted. "His arrogant dominance over everyone in this household. He abuses the servants, ignores Lucan, and bullies me." He shot Roarke a look that begged for pity. "The drug trade has made him rich beyond his wildest dreams, which is considerable, and he has even bought my own villa from me, so that he can remind me day and night that I live here solely due to his generosity of spirit because he loves Marina and I am her father. And for all his other faults—which are legion—he does love her."

"And you're not afraid of him turning on you someday?" Rogan wanted to know.

Marina sighed. "I don't know how much longer that will last, I'm sorry to admit. Once Giancarlo was a gentle, lighthearted, good-spirited man, happy and carefree, and we had such a joyous existence when we were first married. True, we were constantly in debt, but we needed nothing but each other."

"Ha," barked LiSciola in disgust. "He _needed_ a decent job, like anyone else in the village, so he could have paid his own way and supported you properly." He turned to Roarke. "You may remember the last time we met, when I mentioned that they were running through the money left from my late daughter Paola's management of the black-lightning trade because I was forever paying off some creditor or another—not for pity of that weed, but to be sure my Marina wouldn't lack for anything she needed. Well, eventually it ran out, and for a year or so that young weed did odd jobs and tried regular work all over the village, only to fail in some manner every single time. He and Marina lost their little apartment and had to move in with me, where they've been ever since. Then one day he was prowling the lab while I tended to the amakarna plants in my greenhouse, and the next thing I knew, he had announced he wanted to take up where Paola left off and revive the black-lightning business. I saw nothing wrong with it; after all, if you're fool enough to get yourself hooked on the stuff, you deserve what it does to you. But once he'd managed to make a success of it, he began lording it over everyone. Now he's a strutting dictator."

"He's become a tyrant," Marina admitted in a small voice, "and he frightens me when he gets angry. And I'm afraid that's rather often. I'm just grateful he pays Lucan no attention, because I fear otherwise he'd do something unspeakable to his own son. He tells me he's doing all this for me, to give me all the things I deserve, but I don't like the way he's doing it. And that's why we contacted you, Mr. Roarke. Perhaps you can make him see reason somehow. And there must be a way to end the black-lightning trade, once and for all. I thought, if anyone knew what it was or could find it, it would be you."

Roarke studied her for a long moment, then frowned. "Indeed, Mrs. Ognissanti, and if I do, will you then let me in on your secret?"


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - September 6, 2008 – Fantasy Island

"Holy paradise," said Lauren in awe. "Look at the size of that family coming off the plane. So who are they, Leslie?"

"What're you, channeling Tattoo?" Leslie teased her, and she, Lauren and Michiko laughed. "Actually, you might notice that one's missing — the father of the six younger folks there. You can see Mrs. Elaine Bailey in the middle there, surrounded by her children: Jill, Cheryl, Kathy, Roger, Marty and Joel. Mrs. Bailey raised them all in Binghamton, New York, and Jill and Marty came up with this fantasy idea."

"What _is_ the fantasy?" Lauren prodded.

"They want to help their mother find a new life," said Leslie simply. Lauren and Michiko looked at each other and then expectantly at her, but Leslie borrowed one of her father's tactics and simply smiled at them before gesturing toward the plane and introducing the other guests, a couple who wanted to invent the "next big thing".

All the way back to the main house she had to fend off their questions, and once in the study she threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Will you two cut it out? You'll find out all you need to know in due time. Jill and Marty Bailey are coming over in about an hour, and they'll give us all the dirty little details."

"Geez," Lauren complained, flopping into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "How in heck do you stand it every weekend, waiting for Mr. Roarke to feed you tidbits about the fantasies till the guests wander in and paint the rest of the picture for you?"

Michiko winked at Leslie before intoning to Lauren, "Patience, grasshopper, all will be revealed in due time. Is there anything mundane we have to do before they show up, Leslie? Like going through mail, for example?"

Leslie broke into laughter. "You're almost as bad as she is. Kali comes around with the mail usually in the early afternoon, so you'll just have to wait for that one. But just for you guys, I left a big stack of letters on the tea table over there. I was going to have the triplets open the envelopes, but they haven't quite mastered the art of doing it without ripping up the contents too, and they're too young to be wielding letter openers. So you can have at it to your hearts' content, and I'll take care of some other business over here."

"Oh, fun," Lauren blurted. "This was what I signed up for." Gleefully she sprinted for the tea table; Leslie fell into Roarke's chair, giggling helplessly, while a laughing Michiko followed Lauren over to help with the mail.

They were so busy actually reading the letters they opened that they hadn't gotten through more than about twenty or so apiece before Marty and Jill Bailey arrived; then they lost what little momentum they'd had, ears wide open as they turned toward the scene at the desk to listen. Leslie tried to ignore them, welcoming the Bailey siblings in and offering refreshments. They refused; Jill smiled while Marty reached over to shake hands.

"So what exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?" Leslie asked.

Marty sighed gently. "Well, I guess we need to explain a little. We're from a very old-fashioned family, the kind you never hear about anymore that seems like a silly throwback to the post-World-War-II years. Roger's the oldest and he and Jill were actually both born in the late fifties, and all the rest of us throughout the sixties. It was an era when women stayed home, cooked and cleaned and raised the kids, while the man went out and won the bread. That was Mom's milieu, and she never complained about it. She thrived doing that; it was what she was born to do." He and Jill went on to explain how their mother had never had a job and had spent all her life taking care of her children, even after they were adults, due to divorces and bad life decisions. "And Dad gives her barely enough to meet the bills."

"Can't she sue for higher alimony payments?" Leslie asked.

"She doesn't want to go through court again," Jill explained. "The divorce left her traumatized and swearing that she never wanted to see Dad, or the inside of a courtroom, again. We aren't really sure what to do now. She doesn't stay in the house more than a day or two at a stretch because she's so lonely; she keeps dropping in on one or another of us, and since we're scattered all over the state, that's a _lot_ of driving around."

"So we want her to understand that she's not just a washed-up old woman with nothing left to live for," Marty said. "We've tried everything, even suggested volunteering, but she can't face trying to carve out a new life for herself at this late date. But she's only in her early 70s, and she's in good health. So she has to do _some_thing."

"Something other than hanging out with you guys all the time," Leslie put in.

"Right," said Jill and Marty in chorus.

Lauren spoke up then, as if unable to keep quiet any longer. "Didn't your mom have any hobbies?" she wanted to know.

Jill and Marty both spun on their rear ends in their chairs to stare at her, as if they had failed to notice her and Michiko when they first walked in. Then Jill snorted aloud. "Are you kidding? Who has time for hobbies when you're raising six kids?"

Marty grinned, but suggested, "Calm down, sis." To Lauren he added, "Problem is, she's right. Mom cooked and cleaned and sewed — well, to the extent that she was always repairing our clothes, especially us guys. I guess _we_ were her hobby."

"She didn't do crafts like macramé or latch-hook rugs?" Lauren pressed, sounding surprised. "She didn't take up aerobics in the 80s or decide to go back to school and learn a new language? Or take up interior decorating?"

Jill shrugged sheepishly. "She never had time. Since we were forever coming back after doing stupid things, Mom was always there to shore us up and make us feel better and urge us to move back into our old rooms."

"In other words, what with all your, uh, adventures," Leslie supplied, "your mother found herself still taking care of kids, and probably grandkids at times, too."

"Yep, for years," Marty said with a nod. "Dad would read us the riot act, but Mom just welcomed us back and told us to stay as long as we needed to. Cheryl and I sort of abused that privilege, more than once. Joel just never bothered moving out till he finally figured out he wanted to be a lawyer. So we were always there, and she always had at least two of us to take care of and fuss over."

"Now she should see to herself," said Jill. "I don't mean that in a derogatory way. I just mean that now she can do whatever she wants, indulge in all the stuff she could only dream about while she was trying to get us dummies back on the straight and narrow. Instead, it's like her purpose in life finally dried up after all these years."

Leslie nodded. "Okay…well, tell you what, you guys work on your mother. Get her to cheer up and have some fun, no matter how you have to do it. And then, after lunch, have her come here so I can talk with her for a while. How's that sound?"

"I think we can manage that," Marty said. "Thanks, Mrs. Enstad." He and Jill both shook Leslie's hand, then departed looking more hopeful.

"You have an idea for Mrs. Bailey?" Lauren asked.

Leslie grinned. "That's for me to know and you to find out. Go ahead and work on the mail for a while. I've got to go to Mr. and Mrs. Magliozzi's bungalow and get their fantasy going, and it might take me a while."

"What, we don't get to come watch?" Michiko kidded.

"Get to work, assistant," Leslie said with a smirk, and they both stuck their tongues out at her before diving back into the mail. Leslie left the main house laughing to herself.

It took her a little less than an hour to get the Magliozzis launched into their fantasy, by showing them a small laboratory in town and introducing them to their four-person staff; once their little think tank was hard at work conjuring up the next trendy must-have item, she glanced across the square at Christian's shuttered-up office and wondered where he'd gotten off to and whether he'd found a hazmat suit after all. Seating herself behind the wheel of the rover, she pulled out her cell phone and punched a button to dial his number.

"Leslie?" his voice responded after a few double buzzes, just before his voice mail would have kicked in. "Is something wrong?"

"No, just wondering how it's going," she said.

"Not very well," he admitted, sounding discouraged. "I'm on the ferry on the way back from the Air Force base right now. Darius is with me — I thought perhaps, since he's former Air Force himself, he might still carry a little leverage there. But he wasn't able to help, and no one had any idea what I could do. I suppose it's back to bothering the exterminators."

"Sorry to hear that," Leslie said with genuine sympathy; then she had an idea. "But wait a minute before you do that. Let me get back to the main house and see if I can come up with that stuff Father gave you guys to clean off the bug stench. Maybe there's a way to use it as a kind of air freshener."

Christian's voice brightened somewhat. "If you think that would work, I'd welcome it, my Rose, thank you. Perhaps while you're there, you can put one of your assistants to work hunting down a…a moonsuit for me. As Darius put it, there's no such animal at the base, and to tell the truth I got a large collection of very strange looks."

Leslie laughed. "Oh well, at least you tried. If you don't see a rover in front of your office when you and Darius drive through town, then just come to the main house. Lauren and Michiko should be there; I've got them handling the mail."

"Oh, that'll keep them busy and out of trouble, no question," Christian chuckled. "Well enough, then, we'll see you shortly."

Leslie returned to the main house and headed directly for the cellar, glancing at her two friends in the study along the way; they were so absorbed in the mail, they never saw her pass by. She grinned all the way to the cellar, but once there her mind turned to another track. As it happened, Roarke had mixed up a large enough supply of deodorizing potion that he'd stored it in a decanter the size of a wine carafe, making it easy to find.

Christian and Darius were waiting in the study, watching Michiko and Lauren perusing letters, when Leslie came back in with the neon-bubblegum-colored liquid. The two men looked at each other and then at her, and Darius inquired poker-faced, "You think that'll be enough to handle the problem?"

"Smartass," said Leslie good-naturedly, and Darius grinned. "Let's get over to the shop and see if we can do something about that stink beetle's legacy."

"We still don't have a hazmat suit," Christian reminded her.

Leslie shrugged. "So I go in first waving this around to ward off the stink."

"Like a sacred talisman?" Darius suggested with a grin at Christian.

Christian snorted. "Call it what you will. I'm desperate enough to try anything. Let's go, my Rose." He and Darius headed for the door.

Once they reached Christian's office, they hesitated, with Leslie and Darius peering through the windows while Christian found the key and shoved it into the lock. He drew in an audible deep breath and held it before twisting the key counterclockwise and pushing the door open, while Leslie watched and Darius took a step or two back from the doorway.

Christian ventured inside, glancing cautiously around and then at Leslie, who made a face as a foul odor wafted out the open door. "You better come back out in case that smell drops you again," she advised, only half joking.

Christian came back out only too willingly, releasing his pent-up breath with a loud gust and slumped shoulders. "It's hopeless," he said. "I don't see how I'll ever be able to work in here again."

"You're being a pessimist," Leslie chided him. "Do me a favor — I need one of those little spray bottles. They probably have some at the grocery store."

"I've got one in my desk," said Darius. "Hang on, I'll be the hero and go after it." He pulled in a deep breath of his own, pinched his nose shut and plunged through the door, with Christian and Leslie watching through the window. A moment or two later, Darius returned with the bottle and handed it to Leslie; she proceeded to fill it while Darius braced his hands on his knees and half bent over, breathing hard a few times.

Leslie handed the decanter to Christian and held her own breath before going in, squirting atomized potion into the air in every direction as she ventured deeper inside. Of course, inevitably she had to breathe again, but was very surprised to find that the stench was being handily beaten back by her improvised deodorizer. "It's working," she called through the open door. "Sorry it'll smell like roses in here though."

Darius and Christian came in, both sniffing and exchanging surprised, pleased looks. "Much better," Christian said. "But what do you mean, roses? I smell sandalwood."

"That's not what it smells like," Darius countered. "It's Irish Spring soap."

They stared at one another; then Christian and Leslie came to the same realization at the same time and both laughed. "That's Father for you," she said. "I guess everybody smells the scent that appeals the most, so each of us smells something different. Can't go wrong with that." She surveyed the walls, then braced herself, marched up to the far wall against which Taro's and Beth's desks sat, and sniffed cautiously before recoiling. _"Ugh._ Let's see if this works as well on walls as on air and people and clothes." She began to spritz the painted surface directly, starting as high up as she could reach and spraying in long downward sweeps, moving along while Christian and Darius began to gingerly lift tarps off their desks and examine what was underneath.

Leslie had completed two walls and was about to begin the third and final one when Christian flipped the tarp entirely off his desk, with a violent motion that sent it sailing over to land against the wall Leslie was about to spray. He caught her watching and warned, "Don't spray the tarps, my Rose. Those belong to the exterminators — and after the runaround they gave me, I'm going to let them worry about how to deodorize their own property." Leslie burst out laughing and promised not to touch them.

While she was busy, Christian turned on his computer, leaned down to sniff at his desk phone, then shrugged and picked up the receiver to call in the rest of his employees. Darius had followed Christian's example and flung the tarp off his own desk and out the door altogether, where it attracted attention from the square and people began to gather.

Leslie finished spraying, noticed the crowd and stepped out to address them. "It's okay to come in," she said with a grin. "We just finished treating the place and the stench is gone now. Enstad Computer Services is open for business."

"Good," said someone emphatically. "I took my computer all the way to Hawaii for a virus removal, and they couldn't do anything about it. All that money wasted. Prince Christian's better than anybody else around." He noticed a few vacationers peering interestedly at him and explained, "He charges kind of a lot for his services, but he always delivers what he promises, so it's worth every penny."

Leslie grinned at the testimonial, hoping Christian had heard it. "He's calling in the rest of his staff, so if you need help, just go on in." She slipped back inside and waited till Christian was between calls, then smiled. "You've already got a very enthusiastic customer, and your odor problem's been cured, so I guess I may as well let you get to work and have your fun." She winked at him. "And you didn't need a hazmat suit after all." They both laughed then, and he tipped forward and kissed her in gratitude as his first customer lugged a computer tower inside.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - September 10, 2008 – near Grottaminarda, Italy

It was well past midnight on their fourth day before Marina led Roarke and Rogan to the greenhouse adjacent to the villa. There was an enclosed walkway to afford access to the greenhouse in inclement weather; they took this, going by the dim, flickering light from sconces mounted regularly through the enclosure. In the greenhouse proper, Marina handed them both flashlights from a bench beside the entrance and took one for herself, switching it on and pointing it at the floor some yards ahead. "Make sure the light isn't easily seen from town," she instructed them, sounding a little urgent. "Ever since the news first came out about the reason for my marriage to Prince Christian, townspeople have been suspicious of this villa and any activity they happen to see here, especially at night."

"If that's true, then why do they allow your father and particularly your husband to keep doing what they do?" Rogan asked pointedly.

Marina made a scoffing noise. "Money talks, here as anywhere else. The earnings from this industry go back into the local economy, and unfortunately Giancarlo's business in black lightning is the biggest financial booster in the area. They won't upset the applecart, even though they know the apples are rotten."

"Hypocrites," muttered Rogan, getting a look from Roarke but no comment. They spoke no more from that point, trailing Marina deeper into the greenhouse till she reached a corner on the far end in an area that overlooked the valley but was partly screened behind several tall, thin bushes. The men watched as she moved aside a table holding several potted orchids, then stooped to lift a large iron ring in the floor and haul a heavy wooden trapdoor open. Rogan moved forward and lent assistance.

They had to pick their way down an unbelievably venerable wrought-iron spiral staircase with thick oaken treads; it was so narrow that Rogan fancied he was getting a touch of claustrophobia as he descended. It didn't help that their flashlights were the only source of illumination here; he swept his around him once he reached the bottom and saw that they seemed to be standing in a small room with a wide arched doorway off to the left that led into impenetrable blackness. "Tell me we're not going that way," he said.

"We are," Marina told him. "It's not very far, though. Just follow me."

Rogan's sense of distance was skewed by the lightless void despite the flashlights, so he had no idea how far they had walked before Marina stopped in front of a door that she had to open with a skeleton key. Roarke commented, "Very secretive."

"Of necessity," said Marina. "Even Papa doesn't know about this. He's too frightened of the dark to come this far. He knows about the trapdoor, but he refuses to find out what lies beyond it." She glanced back at them, her eyes glittering in the flashlight beams. "Paola showed me this passageway once when I was a little girl. I found the room myself, though." She turned to the door and pushed it open, revealing not a room as Rogan had expected from her speech, but another narrow stairway, this one leading straight down and very steep. It took them almost ten minutes to descend it; the air was dank and humid here, and moisture seeped down the walls and collected in small puddles on every stone tread, making for slippery going.

At the bottom Marina led them ahead a few more yards, then unlocked yet another wooden door and no fewer than five heavy deadbolts with the same skeleton key and pointed her light into the void that lay beyond. Rogan hung back, letting Roarke go first, then picked his way in, exploring with the flashlight. Marina closed the door behind them and locked it, then secured each of the deadbolts and tested them to be sure they were properly in place before turning to the men. "This is it."

"D'ye work by torch in here too, lassie," Rogan asked testily, his brogue beginning to thicken in his agitation, "or have ye some proper lighting to see by?"

"This place has never been wired for electricity," Marina explained, "so I've bought a number of camping lanterns to see by." She bustled around the room firing up each of half a dozen lanterns while Rogan and Roarke stood watching, swinging their flashlights around the room in an attempt to get its measure. In a few minutes the entire space was revealed in the cold, blue-tinged white light of the lanterns. It was a rough chamber with stone walls, floor and ceiling, old enough to have the same seepage problem as the stairway that led to it; the lanterns hung from rusted hooks driven into the spaces between stones, and the only furniture was a large, rickety wooden table atop which sat a distillation apparatus not unlike a home still. Roarke took in the scene without expression.

Rogan was still in a touchy mood. "An' here I suppose ye're attemptin' to make some form o' moonshine out of amakarna now, eh?"

"Much to the contrary," said Marina softly, and for some reason her voice trembled just slightly. "What I'm doing here could change many lives."

Roarke had been scanning the room while they spoke, and now noticed several pots of amakarna plants in the corner, with their distinctive rabbit-ear leaf pairs and the round brown seeds that produced the spice. They sat under a floor lamp rigged as a sunlamp for the plants' benefit. "What exactly _are_ you attempting here, Mrs. Ognissanti?" he asked, in a quiet voice that demanded a response.

Marina threw him a look that begged his patience, and circled the table, studying the distillation equipment sitting atop it. She paused at the end nearest the right-hand wall, picking up a ceramic mug that sat under a spout and dipping a finger into it, tasting it. She frowned, set the mug back down and sighed. "Mr. Roarke, will you please sample this?"

"Och, uncle, ye'd best be careful," Rogan warned, suddenly on edge. "Ye have no idea what she's brewin' up there."

"I wish you'd stop being so suspicious," Marina snapped, finally fully revealing her own frayed nerves. "I'm trying to _help!"_

"So ye say," Rogan shot back. "I've yet to understand what's going on here, with ye bein' so closemouthed. Uncle, I think ye'd better make her explain herself first."

Roarke paused a moment, weighing the words Rogan and Marina had exchanged, considering the situation. Then he moved to the table, lifted the mug and sniffed. "Amakarna," he said, "or more correctly, a distillate thereof."

"_What?"_ Rogan exploded. "Now _she's_ cookin' up a batch of black lightnin'? What in hell d'ye think ye're doin', Marina? An' ye it was who called us here in the first place!"

"It's not black lightning," Roarke said, stopping Rogan cold. "Come and look at it: the color is wrong."

Scowling, Rogan approached him and peered into the mug; Roarke trained his flashlight into it so that Rogan could see that the liquid was clear, like water. "Fine then…so she's brewin' _white_ lightnin' instead."

"It's not a drug," Marina said, voice shaking with both nerves and fury. "You might close your mouth long enough to listen to me." Both men turned to study her; she flinched slightly beneath their scrutiny, but continued in a none-too-steady tone. "I've been distilling my father's processed spice for several years now, trying to study it, to see what makes it the way it is. I grew up watching him and my sister babying this plant, turning it into the additive and the drug it can be, experimenting with it till Paola especially found still other uses for it. She was even able to separate out a property in the spice that allowed it to retain its sleep-deepening ability without addicting the user to it." Roarke was reminded then of the last time he had seen Paola LiSciola alive, when she had attempted to kill Leslie using a formula known as _karnise _— undoubtedly the distillate Marina was describing. "She was working on another application for it when the bone-eating disease went into its final stages with her and she left us for the last time. I don't know what that application was, but I'm sure it wasn't meant to be beneficial. In any case, after she died, on one of my visits back here, I collected all her equipment and brought it to this room, to keep it from falling into other hands that might wish to use it for evil purposes."

"One of your visits?" Rogan repeated.

"I was still married to Christian at the time," Marina said, and Rogan nodded in comprehension. "When I brought it down here, I had in mind only to keep it hidden. It worked for quite a long time…but then after Giancarlo and I moved back into the villa and he hit on the idea of reviving Paola's trade in black lightning, I discovered my husband isn't quite the useless weed Papa likes to believe he is. He was able to build his own distillation apparatus from scratch. That was just the first thing I realized he was truly capable of. It seems he's studied chemistry and knows what he's doing when it comes to black lightning." She drew in a breath and seemed to physically brace herself, drawing her spine erect. "But I'm no lightweight either. I spent most of my life watching Papa and Paola playing with the spice, and I learned far more than either of them ever suspected I knew…more than Giancarlo thinks I know, too. I've been isolating the various properties of amakarna and have managed to separate out six so far. This is the seventh…but I haven't ascertained exactly what role it plays in making the spice what it is."

"You mean a menace to life in general?" Rogan put in sarcastically.

"Among other things," Marina said, nodding. She turned to Roarke. "This is the reason I asked you to come. Yes, I know, Papa made the request, but I need your help much more than he does. I need to know what property this is, so that I can find out if it's the key to my next, perhaps final, step."

"How do you know it's not harmful?" Rogan wanted to know.

"It wouldn't matter if it were. I have to be my own guinea pig," Marina said, her tone sharpening as she glared at him. "Since I must have the spice to survive in any case, the same way my father and an unfortunately large number of Earth humans do, I may as well use my daily dose to find out what it is about the damned substance that makes it so necessary to the survival of those who need it."

"How exactly are you testing it?" Roarke asked.

"I make up a serum of the component I'm testing, and take that each day in lieu of my regular dose of amakarna," explained Marina. "Each time so far, within two or three days, I begin to weaken and have withdrawal symptoms." She gestured at the mug that Roarke still held. "I haven't tested this yet, though. This is just the first batch of this component, and I still have at least five others to try."

At her gesture, Rogan and Roarke both circled the table, studying the distillation equipment more closely. There were twelve or fourteen spigots, each one with a mug or drinking glass beneath it, catching very slow drips. About half the substances were water-clear; the others were mostly various shades of brown or tan. "Okay," Rogan said slowly, "so you're looking for something…what?"

"I want to know two things: which is the addictive property, and which is the component that binds itself to our systems and those of Earth humans and makes us all dependent on the spice for the rest of our lives. This is the latest one; I've just started testing it." She turned to a shelf that they had somehow missed in their perusal of the room, and lifted down a crystal jar with a lid shaped like a partly flattened cone, with a knob at its peak. The liquid inside was a startling emerald-green color. "It's the only component that has come out in this color, so I've wondered if this might not be one of the culprits."

"Could be a chlorophyll analogue, from the color," Rogan observed.

Roarke took the jar from her and tilted it a little, examining the contents. "I see," he murmured, frowning slightly. Rogan thought he could see gears turning in his uncle's head, and tried to follow whatever line of reasoning Marina was getting around to, in her glacially gradual way. Roarke looked up and studied her, then inquired, "Why are you trying to isolate these two particular components?" _Ah,_ thought Rogan, _the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question._ Anticipation began to bloom in him.

Marina bit her lip before meeting his gaze with hesitant eyes. "I…" She let the sound hang there for several seconds, then grasped Roarke's arm, the one that wasn't holding the jar. "Please, Mr. Roarke, I must beg you not to tell anyone else. You as well, Rogan. I have no concrete results yet — and that's why I need your help. I've reached the limit of my own knowledge, and I must have more experienced minds and hands to help."

"To help with _what_, lassie, for pity's sake?" Rogan demanded impatiently. "Spit it out, and stop wastin' our time!"

"I have two objectives," Marina said, her voice trembling again. "I want to find an antidote that will eliminate addiction to black lightning…" She swallowed audibly, then sucked in a breath and stared at Roarke with desperate appeal. "And I want to find a way to help those addicted to amakarna. I want to create the agent that will allow both our people and Earth humans to be free of the need to have the spice, at its ridiculously inflated cost in both monetary and medical terms, so that they'll never need it again."

Rogan's mouth sagged open; even Roarke looked astonished, and had to set down the jar of green liquid. "Do you truly believe you may have found something that will allow you to do that?" he asked.

"I don't know—that's why I need your help, don't you see? Giancarlo may have made a success of himself at last, but I'm sickened by the way he's doing it—hooking innocent people on this drug that seems beneficial but isn't. And what of those people who have to have amakarna with their food every day? Think of it, Mr. Roarke. If it weren't for that spice, Christian could have married Leslie according to his original plans, and I would have been able to follow my own heart." She winced, bit her lip again, then added, "I've also been hoping it will bring back the Giancarlo Ognissanti I fell in love with so long ago. He's so changed now…so cruel and cold and unfeeling. Oh, he says he still loves me, but now that I'm the only one he shows any warmth to, I've begun to wonder when I'll wake up in the morning to find that I'm as expendable and useless to him as my father and even our son are now. I want to save him and all those others."

Rogan blew out a breath. "Aye, that's a noble goal to be certain…but you must realize you have a longer way to go than you think. Just isolating the parts that cause the problem won't solve it. You have to find something that will defeat their effects."

"And I must do it quickly," said Marina with a nod. "You, Rogan, with your knowledge of plants, you can be a great help to me in testing potential counteractive agents. And Mr. Roarke, with your knowledge of amakarna and what it can be perverted into, and what it can do, both good and bad — you'll be able to help me learn what I need to know to apply any possible cures."

Roarke and Rogan looked at each other, and Rogan folded his arms over his chest, his mind off and running. "I was lookin' around when we first came into the greenhouse," he mused, "and it doesn't look half as well stocked as mine at home, with maybe a third as many different plant varieties as I have. I wish there were a way we could somehow pack up Marina and all her efforts here, and take them back to Fantasy Island so we could do the proper experimentation."

Roarke considered it, nodding a little. "On the other hand," he pointed out, "there are plants here in Italy which we don't have on the island. My suggestion is that, since we are here for the next several weeks, we do our initial testing on whatever plants are available in the LiSciola greenhouse. If we find no solution here, we will make arrangements to move the entire operation to Fantasy Island." He looked at Marina. "Is this agreeable?"

Marina's face had lit with hope. "Yes, oh yes, it would be the perfect solution!" Then she caught herself and glanced overhead, as though she could see through the stone ceiling and the very earth over their heads to the interior of the villa. "I only hope we can complete the tests of the likeliest plants here before Giancarlo returns from Rome. If he has even the smallest suspicion, his reaction could be deadly."

Rogan smirked. "I have no doubt uncle could handle Giancarlo without the slightest problem. But if it makes you feel safer, we'll do it your way. When do we start?"


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - September 14, 2008 – Fantasy Island

Lauren was late this second Saturday of Leslie's temporary job as "the boss", and Leslie and Michiko were loitering on the steps chatting a bit while they waited for her, with Noelle listening in avidly. "The Bailey fantasy seemed like such a simple solution, I thought," Michiko was saying. "All you had to do was put Mrs. Bailey in charge of a bunch of guests' kids, and she was in her element. I'll never forget how happy she looked when she left here last Monday morning, looking forward to working in a day-care center."

Leslie grinned. "Yeah, it's nice when they're easy to grant. Where the heck is Lauren? If she doesn't show up in the next two minutes, I'm telling David to leave without her."

"You know something, Miss Leslie?" Noelle spoke up suddenly, catching their attention. "I kinda wish Mr. Roarke would change the rules so fourteen-year-olds could drive on this island. They send David Omamara over to pick me up for the go-fer errands you used to do years ago, and he's _sooooooo_ condescending. He always looks as if he's being put out of his way to take me places."

"Does he?" Leslie asked, exchanging a glance with Michiko. "Well, tell you what, I'll look into that the first chance I get." Noelle nodded agreement, and Leslie glanced into the side yard, where Brianna was playing a raucous game of tag with the triplets. "Good, they're getting some exercise at least…" She sighed, checked her watch and made a face. "Okay, that does it. We need to go, Lauren or not."

They were just getting into the waiting car when there was a shout, and Lauren came charging down the lane, waving both arms. Leslie told David to wait, and they let Lauren catch up, watching her huff and puff her way to Brianna in the yard. She had a quick conversation, nodded, slapped a hand over her chest as if in abject gratitude, beamed at Brianna, and at last jogged over to the car and slid in beside Noelle. Michiko tossed her a sardonic look and said, "So nice you could join us today, Mrs. Knight."

Chest heaving from exertion, Lauren stuck her tongue out. "Good morning to you too," she retorted between breaths. "Sorry, Leslie. Kevin was being a little brat this morning, and it was all I could do to get him out of bed. I finally left him at my parents' house and told them I'd see if Brianna might be willing to babysit him along with the triplets. That's why I made a beeline for her when I got here. She said she'll be glad to do it. Kevin and Tobias can keep each other occupied, too."

"That'll make Tobias happy, all right," Leslie agreed with a grin. "I presume you're all set to start another weekend in fantasyland."

"You better believe it. Reading all that mail was a blast and a half." Lauren relaxed in her seat, slowly getting her breath back. "Can't wait to see who's on the agenda today."

"So when does one of us get to play a part in a fantasy?" Michiko inquired.

Leslie twisted in her seat to give her a surprised look. "I had no idea you were interested in doing that."

"Well, it's not like there isn't precedent. I can remember a weekend way back when, I forget what year but I know it happened, because I remember you talking about it. It was a time-travel fantasy where you had the family of one fantasizer go back in time with you to help you play roles in the _other_ guest's fantasy. And Christian's gone back with you several times, hasn't he? There's no reason Lauren or I can't do it too. And we're volunteers, so you don't have to wonder who needs to be recruited."

Leslie laughed. "I suppose not, but I don't think Father scheduled any time-travel fantasies while he's gone. But don't worry…I think you guys are gonna like the ones we have this weekend."

At the plane dock, a woman some twenty years their junior disembarked from the plane, surrounded by no fewer than five little girls who appeared to be around kindergarten or first-grade age. "Miss Chelsea Rucker, with the members of her beginner's ballet class, all of them six years old. She runs a ballet school back in Edison, New Jersey, and her project is to put on a performance of _The Nutcracker_ for this year's Christmas season. That means auditioning for the part of Clara, and she just can't decide who might be best suited to it. So what she wants to do is live out that ballet along with her charges — as if all five of the kids were little Claras — so she can get an idea of how each one of them reacts to all the things that happen to the character in the show."

"Oh, wow," blurted Noelle, who had been utterly silent the previous weekend (bringing back quite a few memories for Leslie). "I _love_ that ballet. I have it on DVD and I watch it every single Christmas. I wish like anything I could be part of that fantasy."

Leslie grinned; she had done a little research into the fantasy during the week just past, reading through Roarke's notes and even checking up on the venue he had prepared for her to take Chelsea Rucker and her students to in order to have the fantasy. "As a matter of fact, when we get back to the main house, I've got something for you to do. Wait and see, Noelle, you'll love it." Taking in Noelle's overjoyed expression, she traded grins with her friends and turned back to the dock. "Aha — and there are Jayden and Christopher Haynes and their friend Marcus Greene, and Jayden and Christopher's dad Andrew, from Dayton, Ohio. The boys are dragon freaks."

"So they want to see a dragon this weekend," Michiko guessed.

"Better than that, they want a dragon all their own," Leslie told her, grinning.

Lauren chuckled. "They wouldn't be major fans of that kids' book _How to Train Your Dragon_, like Kevin, by any chance, would they?" she asked with a grin. They all laughed, and Leslie introduced herself to their latest guests, looking forward to the weekend.

As it turned out, so was Noelle, and perhaps even more so than Leslie. The moment they got back to the main house from the dock, in the lull before the first guests were to come around for their appointments with Leslie, Noelle attacked. "So what do I get to do this weekend, Miss Leslie? Can I be in that _Nutcracker_ fantasy, please? I'll even be a tin soldier or the Christmas tree, just so long as I can be in it!"

Leslie burst out laughing. "Calm down, Noelle, before you make yourself sick. I did a little looking into this during the week, and I even called your mother and cleared it with her. You're going to be the Sugar Plum Fairy."

Noelle sucked in a long, loud gasp, then shrieked with delight, bouncing across the study in her glee. "Omigod omigod omigod, I can't believe it!" she squealed. "Oh Miss Leslie, that's even better than I hoped for! Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you!" She threw her arms around a surprised and laughing Leslie, while Michiko and Lauren stood there trying not to collapse into giggles. "Omigod! Best — weekend — _ever!"_ Noelle proclaimed.

Her voice had obviously carried quite a distance, because Brianna came down the stairs with the triplets and Kevin Knight, whose grandparents must have dropped him off at the main house while Leslie and the others were at the plane dock. "What's going on down here that you're screaming your head off?" Brianna wanted to know.

"How come you're hugging my mommy?" Karina Enstad added, sounding jealous.

"I'm going to be in a _Nutcracker_ fantasy!" Noelle sang out, releasing Leslie and twirling around the room with her arms spread wide. "This is gonna be so awesome!"

"Holy crud," Brianna said, staring at her, and Leslie almost thought the girl's face was turning green; her voice dripped with envy. Then her expression changed and she settled her stance on the step, folding her arms over her chest and giving Noelle a smug look. "But there's one little problem with that, you know. You can't dance."

"It's not the problem you think it is," Leslie said when Noelle stopped mid-twirl, her arms falling with thuds and her face a mask of misery. "That's what these are for." She went to Roarke's desk while everyone else watched, and picked up a small pink gift bag that she handed to Noelle. "Look inside."

Noelle dug into the bag and extracted a pair of pale-pink satin ballet slippers. "Toe shoes?" asked Brianna from the stairs.

"Very special toe shoes," Leslie said and grinned at Noelle. "Father left them especially for this fantasy. They're magical ballet slippers: as long as you're wearing them, you'll be a graceful and talented ballerina."

Noelle screeched and started twirling again, and Brianna rolled her eyes and urged the children back upstairs. Karina, however, refused to go, for perhaps the first time; instead she went to Leslie and wrapped both arms around her mother's waist. "Karina, come on, your mom's got a lot of stuff to do," Brianna urged.

"I don't wanna," Karina said stubbornly.

Leslie chuckled. "It's okay, Brianna. You can take Susanna and the boys back up, and I'll keep Karina with me for a while." Brianna shrugged agreement and retreated, and Leslie slid an arm around her daughter while she shot a glance at the grandfather clock. "Noelle, I realize you're thrilled beyond belief, but we need to get you ready before our guest and her mini-ballerinas get here. Michiko, if you want, you can take care of the phone, and Lauren, grab a rover and go on down to the fishing village. They have a special catch that needs to be delivered to the hotel." Michiko took her place at the desk while Lauren took the key Leslie handed her and scuttled eagerly out of the house.

"Can I stay with you, Mommy?" Karina asked.

"Sure, sweetie," Leslie said with an indulgent smile, "but you have to be good and not get in my way while I'm trying to work, okay?" Karina nodded, and Leslie smoothed the little girl's hair. "Okay then. Noelle, come with me — right over here." She took Karina's hand and led the way to the time-travel room, while Michiko looked on from the desk.

Inside, Leslie showed Noelle a fanciful tulle gown that glittered and sparkled from every possible crevice. "You'll be wearing that," she explained to the teenager, who was still beside herself, "and you'll have a crown and even a magic wand to go with it. We'll go out for a minute so you can change, and when you're ready, just poke your head out." Noelle nodded, and Leslie ushered Karina back into the study, pulling the door shut behind her.

"I want a dress like that," Karina said wistfully, staring back toward the room they had just left. "It's all sparkly and shiny. And you said once that princesses get to wear glittery dresses sometimes."

"Not this time, sweetie," Leslie said with a laugh, settling onto the loveseat and squeezing Karina's shoulder. "This time it's for a fantasy."

Karina tilted her head to one side. "How come you're doing Gran'father's job?"

"Because Grandfather's still away for a while," Leslie explained. "He left me some easy fantasies while he's gone, but he'll be back, I promise."

"I miss him," the child said desolately.

Leslie smiled again and pulled Karina into her lap, cuddling her. "I do too, sweetie, we all do. But he won't be gone forever, I promise." She met Michiko's gaze, and they smiled at each other with mild amusement.

"I hope Daddy comes for lunch," said Karina, as if her mind had jumped tracks, which wasn't unusual for children her age, after all. "I didn't see him all day."

"He'll be here," Leslie assured her. "Do you feel okay, sweetie? You look like you're sad, and that makes me feel sad too."

Karina looked up and gnawed on her lip. "I got sad 'cause I wanted to stay home and play with Magic." This was the name the triplets had finally settled on for the kitten the Enstads had adopted from Camille.

"Magic will still be there too," Leslie reminded her. "Are you sure that's why you're feeling sad?"

Karina hunched her small shoulders, and Leslie watched her daughter, wondering. Then the little girl tried to burrow closer against her mother before mumbling, "Tobias 'n' Kevin were calling me names…and Susanna was helping them."

Leslie blinked in surprise, met Michiko's equally startled look, and frowned a little. "Is that right?" she murmured, only rhetorically, though Karina nodded anyway.

"I think Susanna wants to be a boy," Karina opined. "She was never mean to me before. But now she's playing with them instead of me."

"We'll talk about it at lunchtime," Leslie promised, and Karina nodded again and fell silent, just as the time-travel-room door opened and Noelle's head emerged from behind it.

"I'm ready, Miss Leslie," she said.

"Okay…wait here for me, sweetie," Leslie said, easing Karina off her lap. Karina began to protest, but Leslie shook her head. "I can't take you with me this time, but I'll be right back, and Mrs. Bartolomé is right here. Just a couple of minutes." Karina's chin trembled and her eyes filled with tears; Leslie dropped a kiss on the little girl's head. "I won't be very long." She then turned to Noelle. "Okay, let's get you started."

"Mommy," Karina wailed and started to cry; Leslie sighed softly, tossed Michiko an apologetic glance and stepped into the time-travel room. Noelle, fully decked out in sparkling pink all the way down to the enchanted ballet slippers, peered at her oddly.

"What's the matter with Karina?" she asked as Leslie picked up a crown covered with gold glitter and set about placing it on Noelle's head.

"She says Susanna and the boys are making fun of her," Leslie said, and Noelle made a sympathetic face. "We'll check it out at lunch. But that's not your worry." She grinned, making an adjustment or two to the crown and then reaching for a sparkling mother-of-pearl-colored wand that she handed to Noelle. "Now you're ready. Just a word of caution: all the other characters will be real, and they'll act and react exactly the way they do in the ballet. So if you know the story well enough, you shouldn't have any trouble playing your part, and you'll be instrumental in helping grant this fantasy."

Noelle's eyes were shining. "Finally, _finally,_ something I get to do that Brianna hasn't done first. This is the most awesome thing ever, Miss Leslie. Thank you _soooo_ much!"

"Hey, we aim to please," Leslie said whimsically and grinned. "Now, all you have to do is walk through that door over there, and you can get started. Our ballet teacher and her students will be coming through in another hour or so, so that'll give you a chance to get used to the atmosphere and get ready for what you need to do."

"Great. See you later!" Noelle chirped, waved at her, and let herself through the door in the back of the room without further ado. Leslie laughed and retreated into the study, where Karina instantly scrambled off the loveseat and barreled into her arms, sobbing.

"I called Christian," Michiko said, looking slightly helpless. "I wasn't sure what else to do, and the poor little thing wouldn't stop crying. Something's got her going."

"I wonder if Christian will even bother coming over," Leslie remarked humorously, lifting Karina up and patting her back. "He's been too busy enjoying himself since we finally solved that stink-bug problem last weekend." Michiko laughed.

"Suppose he doesn't show?" she kidded.

"Well, I have a little contingency plan," Leslie said, approaching the desk. "If he doesn't, and if I can't settle Karina down, then I'll have you see Chelsea Rucker and her little girls off into their fantasy." At Michiko's wide eyes, she grinned. "There's nothing to it. Just take them into the time-travel room and send them out the back door, that's all."

Michiko looked relieved. "Oh, well, I guess in that case I can handle it." They both laughed. "So what was Lauren supposed to go pick up?"

"Something big, as I understand it," Leslie said with a shrug, settling into one of the leather chairs and adjusting a clinging Karina in her lap. "I don't know exactly what. Come on now, sweetie, it's not that terrible, is it?"

"I don't want to go back upstairs," Karina cried. "I want to stay with you, Mommy."

"What if Daddy comes over?" Leslie asked. "If he lets you, would you like to go to his work and stay there with him for a while?"

Karina mumbled something unintelligible into Leslie's shoulder and seemed to tighten her grip; Leslie winced slightly and tried to shift the child again, only to have her cling still harder. "Come on now, Karina," she said, her voice a little firmer. "Either stop crying and tell me what's wrong, or you'll have to go back up."

Karina, rubbing at streaming eyes with both fists now, went limp enough to allow Leslie to unwind the child's arms from their stranglehold around her neck and rearrange her position in her lap. She was still trying to soothe away the last of Karina's tears when the door opened and Christian came in, taking in the scene with mild surprise. "Hmm, so what happened in here?" he asked.

"Karina claims that Susanna and the boys were making fun of her," Leslie said, and at his blank look added, "Lauren's parents dropped Kevin off over here, so Brianna's been watching him along with the triplets. Anyway, whatever's got her going, it's bad enough that she won't go back up with them."

"I see," mused Christian, pausing behind the one empty chair. "Karina, tell me, what exactly did Susanna and the boys say to you?"

Karina looked at her father with a watery expression. "They called me lots of mean names. They said I'm just a baby."

"Why would they say that?" Christian prodded gently.

" 'Cause I cried," Karina admitted in a low voice, before her face grew plaintive and she blurted accusingly, "Tobias threw my Katrina Kattunga out the window, Daddy."

Christian's eyebrows shot up. "The one Aunt Anna-Laura sent for your birthday?"

Karina nodded. "I don't know where she went. I said they have to go find her, but they just laughed at me, and I cried 'cause that's the specialest toy I have, and then they all called me a crybaby and other stuff. I don't wanna go back up and be with them anymore. They're just being mean."

"Goodness," said Michiko. "What's that all about?"

"Christian's sister sent each of the kids something for their birthdays that was very special to them," Leslie explained. "Karina's was a plush representation of Katrina Kattunga, a little singing cartoon kitten on a TV show for small children in Lilla Jordsö. The thing is, Tobias and Susanna both claim they're too old for _Katrina Kattunga_ anymore, but Karina still loves the show and likes to watch the DVDs we have…not to mention seeing it streaming online too. I didn't realize it had reached a point where they were ganging up on her about it, though."

Christian eyed his wife. "Don't you still have guests to see off?"

"Yup, we're just waiting for the first ones to show up. I thought maybe Karina could hang out at your office for a while, if you're not too busy and she wouldn't be in the way. Once the fantasies are going, I can come back and get her."

"Ah," he murmured and considered it for a moment. "Well, as it happens, it's not too busy, or I never would have bothered coming over here in the first place for this minor emergency." He grinned. "I see no reason that wouldn't work out. So, _lillan min…"_ He addressed Karina. "What if you and I go outside and see if we can find your Katrina, hm?"

"Can we, Daddy?" Karina exclaimed, her face filling with hope.

"Of course we can," Christian said cheerfully, taking her hand as she slid off Leslie's lap. "What else is a daddy for?" He grinned again when Leslie and Michiko laughed. "With luck, this won't take too long. Believe me, there'll be some consequences around lunchtime." Chuckling, he led Karina out the door.

Leslie shook her head, still laughing. "If that's the most serious crisis we have all weekend, I'll be grateful. I keep thinking something major's gonna go wrong sooner or later. I know, I know." She held up a hand as Michiko shot her a look. "I'm being a pessimist, and all that. But it's been going so smoothly, I'm waiting for Murphy's Law to take over."

"Really, Leslie Enstad, you're just about as hopeless as they come," Michiko said, shaking her head. "That's what they call borrowing trouble, you know. Life has enough of it without you going out and hunting down even more. It's too bad Mr. Roarke's incommunicado while he's off the island…maybe he could have improved your attitude." Leslie stuck out her tongue at her best friend, and they both laughed; but at the same time she found her mind wandering for a moment and wondering what was happening.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § - September 15, 2008 – near Grottaminarda, Italy

It was a cloudy Sunday evening when Marina put her son to bed and bustled around the enormous lounge room in the villa, the one too packed with furniture for her visitors' taste, trying to keep herself busy so that her father wouldn't notice her fidgeting. She had just begun taking the green distillate and seemed to think there was something special about it for some reason; Roarke hoped she was right, because he too was stricken by the strange vivid green color of the stuff. Rogan was sitting in a nook in the corner where a computer had been set up, and had gone online to see what information was available about amakarna and black lightning, "just out of curiosity" as he had said. Roarke had told him it would be wise to update whatever was out there, just as a warning to those who might be thinking of trying either the spice or the drug.

Roarke, who had never owned a cell phone, felt the lack for the first time; what with Marina's desire to keep even her father from finding out what she, Roarke and Rogan were trying to do, they were enduring some forced inactivity, and he was curious as to how things were progressing on his island while he was away. He turned to the count and inquired, "May I borrow your telephone? I'd like to get in touch with my daughter."

"If you must," the count said with a shrug. Then he peered at Roarke oddly. "You left your daughter in charge while you're here?"

"She's quite capable," Roarke said with an unperturbed smile. "Excuse me." He arose and headed for his guest room upstairs; there was a telephone installed in the hallway just outside his door, and it would be a good place to talk uninterrupted.

He calculated the time as he climbed the stairs and realized that Leslie should be back at the main house just about now after seeing that weekend's guests off. It took only a few seconds for the connections to go through, even on the other side of the world, and in just under twenty seconds he had Leslie on the other end. "Oh, hi, Father," she exclaimed, sounding surprised. "I didn't think I'd hear from you before you came home."

"Is that so?" Roarke said with a slight chuckle. "At the moment we're unable to carry out much research, so I thought I'd see how things are going there."

"It's been pretty good," Leslie said, and he could tell by her tone that she was more than a little amazed at this. "No major catastrophes. A few minor ones, maybe, but nothing we couldn't fix. The guests have been happy." Then she laughed. "Lauren's not feeling too generous toward me right about now, though. I sent her to get that order from the fishing village that you mentioned in the notes you left for me, and when she got back she said she was seriously thinking about quitting."

"What happened that upset her so much?" asked Roarke.

"The order turned out to be four hundred pounds each of octopus and squid," Leslie said and started to giggle. "All that for one dragon…really?"

"Dragons are very hungry creatures," Roarke said. "I don't see why Lauren should have been so upset. Had it been any other such large creature, you would have found it necessary to instruct her to see to the preparation of the seafood. As it happens, dragons are their own cooks."

He heard Leslie laughing outright now. "I'll pass that on to her. Otherwise, our ballet teacher figured out which girl was going to be Clara, and at the same time she said she had never seen such an exotic Sugar Plum Fairy. And since Lauren's son had to be with the triplets this weekend, he upset the natural balance of things. He and Tobias ganged up on the girls, and Susanna decided for some reason to side with them, so that poor Karina found herself outnumbered three against one. Tobias threw her favorite stuffed animal out the window, and she and Christian were in the yard for more than an hour trying to find it. By lunchtime they were both manifesting cases of mild sunburn and they hadn't found the toy, and Karina was miserable."

"What did you and Christian do about it?" queried Roarke, enjoying her narrative.

"I told them about the dragon fantasy and how now they weren't going to get to see it, no matter how much they begged," Leslie said. "That really got them going. Kevin was worse than any of the others. Lauren mentioned something at the plane dock Saturday morning about his being a huge fan of that book _How to Train Your Dragon_, and now I see what she meant. Anyway, I made all three of them go out to the side yard after lunch to look for Karina's toy cat, and in the meantime I took Karina herself along with me to check on the luau setup. I think she felt much better after that. She said it was like me being you and her being me, if you see what I mean."

Roarke laughed. "Yes, I do understand. Did they ever find her toy?"

"Not till almost suppertime. After Lauren took Kevin home for the night, I put both Susanna and Tobias in the bathtub and supervised them. They weren't happy about it at all. Susanna said they'd wasted all afternoon, and I told them if they hadn't decided to tease their sister, they could have avoided the punishment." She sighed. "I've been trying ever since that evening to get that stuffed cat away from my daughter so I can run it through the wash, but she refuses to let it out of her sight…and it's a mess. Dusty and dirty and matted, and it looks like a few birds thought it was, um…a highway rest stop."

Again Roarke laughed. "Perhaps you'll be able to get Karina another one if this one is beyond salvage. In the meantime, it sounds as if things are going well otherwise. There was no collateral damage from the dragon's sojourn, was there?"

"None that I know about. Next weekend's big fantasy sounds like so much fun, I'm thinking about giving Michiko a chance to play a part in it. It's really been going well. I keep thinking it's too good to be true, but Michiko told me to stop checking the gift horse's mouth and that sort of thing. So I've decided to enjoy it. What are you and Rogan up to, all the way over there in…wherever you are?"

"Nothing I can explain over the phone, I'm afraid. However, there's much more to our stay here than we had anticipated. We're conducting tests, and it's entirely possible that we may be coming back to the island with…our consultant, so that we can continue that testing if it can't be completed here. If that's the case, we'll fill you in then; I won't want word getting beyond the island, or in fact beyond the main house."

"Okay," Leslie said slowly, as if unsure. "Well…in that case, I hope you do have to come back. Now you've really got me curious."

"If it's warranted, you'll know. I'm afraid I had better go. Give my love to the triplets and greet Christian for me, will you? Have a good day."

She wished him the same, and he hung up with a smile and a sense of peace on that front. Knowing his island was running smoothly would allow him to concentrate more fully on helping Rogan and Marina arrive at solutions. He retreated downstairs, where Rogan was now typing madly and Marina had apparently cleaned everything she could clean. The count was glaring at something on television; Roarke wondered what he did every day.

After about a minute, though, Count LiSciola released an enormous yawn. He wasted no time reaching for the remote control and clicking off the TV set. "I'm feeling uncommonly tired," he said. "Which is fine with me; there's nothing worth watching on television. I'm off to bed. Marina, remind Fiorenza about my special request for breakfast." He left before she could reply, and Roarke watched the count leave, amused.

"That's early, even for Papa," Marina remarked.

"Aye, I suppose it was," said Rogan from the computer, "but I had to do _something_. All this dead-of-night work is leaving me sleep-deprived, and I wanted to finish at a slightly more decent hour this night." He grinned when Marina's mouth dropped open and Roarke shook his head in mock admonition. "Shall we give the count about an hour or so, and then go? I just need to finish updating this Wikipedia entry."

Marina, looking a bit confused, cleared her throat. "I must speak with Fiorenza in any case," she murmured and left for the kitchen. Roarke eyed his cousin's son, a half-smile on his face, and meandered toward him.

"I wasn't aware you had the ability," he commented.

Rogan chuckled and stopped typing to peer up at him. "All my travels around the world before I landed on Fantasy Island were good for something after all. I spent enough time in Lilla Jordsö to meet a few of the more outgoing members of the Liljefors clan, and they were kind enough to teach me a few simple techniques. They come in handy with Rory now and then, so it keeps me in practice."

"I may yet have reason to train you to replace me one day," Roarke said, taking a seat in the nearest chair.

"Och, uncle, bite your tongue," Rogan chided. "You're not quittin' Fantasy Island."

"Oh no, not soon," Roarke agreed comfortably. "But be warned, you'll find yourself with more responsibilities than just the care of plants eventually." He relaxed in the chair and watched as Rogan began typing again. Marina came out then with refreshments, and he accepted a glass, thinking of what lay ahead of them.

§ § § - September 19, 2008

Thanks to another subtle mental suggestion from Rogan, the count had decided a couple of days before to take his little grandson and visit some friends in Sicily that he hadn't seen in quite some time, and had decided he might as well stay at least till Giancarlo returned from Rome. That allowed the trio much more leeway, and they had taken advantage with alacrity.

Rogan had been working with the various plants in the greenhouse, testing anything and everything against each of the distilled properties of amakarna; so far he'd found nothing that would change any of the spice's characteristics. Marina's latest experiment, however, was yielding something exciting: she had been taking the green distillate all week with no loss of mental or physical faculties. "I think this is the part of the spice that acts like a vitamin," she told Roarke, alight with happiness that at last they had made some progress. "I feel no different from the way I do when I take the spice in its normal powdered form."

Roarke nodded. "Good. How much do you take?"

"I calculated the dosage of the distillate versus my normal dose of the spice, and adjusted it for potency. I need little more than a few drops every day. The point is, now that I know what it is that causes amakarna to make itself indispensable to those who must take it, I need to find what will block it. A cure, if you will."

"There may be nothing on earth that will reverse the need for a daily dose of the spice in those who take it," Roarke mused, "but that doesn't mean we shouldn't look. However, I don't think it wise that you risk your life trying to find the solution."

"How else am I to find it if I don't test it on myself?" she wanted to know.

Rogan chuckled. "That's why there are lab mice, y'know. Not that that's much of a help. I've never heard of any living thing being susceptible to amakarna's dubious charms other than human beings. And even if it _is_ possible to get lab mice, or something else, addicted to the stuff, it would take too damned long to get a proper experiment going."

"Would it indeed?" Roarke countered. "Don't be so quick to discount the idea, Rogan. We are here for nearly another two weeks; and I believe I may be able to handle that problem without much effort. We will continue to test for the addictive element, and perhaps that obstacle will be hurdled by the time we must leave. I don't think it wise for us to be here when _Signore_ Ognissanti returns from Rome."

Marina looked up. "I suspect we'll have to go to your island after all, Mr. Roarke. I ask only that when we do, we wait till Papa returns with Lucan. I want to be sure I have my little boy with me when we go."

"He will get the message," Roarke promised her. "Now let's get on with checking some of the untested components."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § - September 21, 2008 – Fantasy Island

Michiko stared at Leslie with such a shocked look that Leslie couldn't help laughing. "You look like a cartoon character that got slammed over the head with an anvil. Trouble is, I can't tell if that means you like this idea or not."

"Leslie, you have no idea…" Michiko began, her eyes brightening. "I just never had a hope that something like this would come up. A real old-fashioned Hollywood movie musical, straight out of the 1940s golden era of films? Like the big MGM blockbusters? I'd _love_ to do it! That guest of yours…I can't wait to meet him."

"He makes quite a potential leading man, doesn't he?" Leslie agreed with a grin. "No worries, he'll be here shortly. But you better make yourself scarce first, if you're going to be one of the extras in this thing, or he'll recognize you without fail."

"He might notice me in any case," Michiko pointed out, "because I'm Asian. I don't know how many of those old movies you've ever seen…have you, by the way?"

Leslie shrugged. "Enough to see what you're getting at. Mostly I was interested only as long as Carson Howland Casey was in it." They both laughed. "But you're right — you saw only Caucasian girls in these things. Never any African-Americans or Asians. It's not a pretty thing, I agree with that, but I suppose if you're going incognito, we'll have to disguise you." She smiled. "Fortunately, Father has a solution for that."

Michiko stared at her, then folded her arms over her chest and eyed her skeptically. "This I have to see. The idea that he somehow knew in advance that I was going to be participating in this thing notwithstanding…what exactly do you have in mind?"

Leslie snickered. "It's actually the same potion I took myself once. It was one of those fantasies where a guy wanted to solve a mystery from _jordisk_ history, and we ended up going back in time — him, me and Christian. The thing was, I was pregnant with the triplets at the time, and Christian was fanatical about insisting I not be allowed to go back, in case I somehow killed the babies or something. But Father needed me in that fantasy, so he used this stuff to disguise me but good." She grinned, leading Michiko over to the tea table where a flask of translucent amethyst-colored liquid waited. "This will turn you into a Caucasian. Nobody'll know you — not even you yourself, so don't look in a mirror after you take this, unless you want to scare yourself to death."

Michiko giggled, staring at the liquid. "That's the same stuff that changed you? Into what, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A Chinese princess," said Leslie. "Not only did it turn me temporarily Asian, I even had a weekend where I wasn't pregnant." She chortled at Michiko's look. "Father left out the ingredient that deals with that, don't worry. You'll just look like me or Maureen."

"I wonder if it'll turn me blonde," Michiko mused, still peering at the flask. "When I was really little, I used to wish I could have blonde hair. That ended in a hurry after Kayoko decided to humor me and tried to bleach my hair. It came out gray instead of blonde, and I looked like a shrunken little old lady for the rest of my kindergarten year."

Laughing, Leslie set the flask back on the table and poured out a quantity into a crystal goblet on the round mirrored tray that always resided there. "This should get you through the full weekend," she said. "If it doesn't, let me know."

"How?" Michiko demanded.

"I'll show you," Leslie said. "For right now, go on into the time-travel room, change into the clothes you see there, and drink that. Then tap on the door a few times and I'll come in and get you started."

"What, I can't come out?" Michiko asked.

Leslie glanced at the inner foyer. "Lauren's probably going to be back by the time you're ready for me to send you off. I don't think we need a heart attack."

Michiko shrugged, looking as if she might have enjoyed playing just such a trick on their friend, but acquiesced. "Oh, all right. But if you're really serious about my not looking into a mirror, then you'd better be prepared to tell me what I look like." She picked up the goblet and disappeared into the time-travel room.

Leslie had just enough time to retreat behind Roarke's desk before Lauren returned from her latest errand. "Okay, it's done. At least it wasn't forty million pounds of squid guts and slimy tentacles. Swordfish and crab legs, I can handle." She rolled her eyes at Leslie's giggle, clearly still not quite ready to laugh at the previous weekend's dragon-food delivery. "So what's next on the agenda?"

"Well, if our friend Mr. Reardon from metropolitan Inkster, North Dakota, shows up on time, you and I'll have a chance to pop down to the amusement park for a while and see if all the performers we've booked for the pavilion there have arrived yet. We're closing the park for the day so they can enjoy it, in exchange for putting on concerts throughout this evening and tomorrow."

Lauren's face instantly glowed with eagerness. "Hey, now that's my kind of thing! I really thought there'd be more of this in my duties as assistant, and I was about to complain at you big-time. So who's there, any really cool 80s bands?"

Before Leslie could reply, the phone rang. "Well, before I fill you in, do me a favor and answer that. I called the hotel about champagne, so if it's them, just tell them you'll be over in a couple of minutes and go ahead. I promise, that'll be the last slogging go-fer chore you'll have to pull for a while."

Lauren snorted and picked up the phone, ascertained that Leslie was right about the caller, and hung up. "I know it's not your fault Noelle got sick, but I gotta tell you, I've started wondering why Michiko hasn't had any of these milk runs." She grabbed her purse off the chair where she had slung it and left.

Leslie had been at the desk for a few minutes scheduling fantasies, a duty she had loved from the time she was around fifteen and Roarke had given her this chore to handle, when she finally heard the tapping she'd been listening for. She dropped the pencil, jumped to her feet and half jogged across the room, looking forward to what she'd find.

"So what do I look like?" demanded Michiko's voice almost before she'd opened the door. Leslie swung it in far enough to step inside, then stopped dead still and gaped. Michiko's expression grew apprehensive. "Is it that bad?"

"Heck no," Leslie exclaimed. "Actually…you make one seriously stunning platinum blonde. I guess the stuff changed you as thoroughly as it changed me that time."

"Do I? Leslie, please, for heaven's sake, please let me see myself. I promise I won't scream or faint or anything."

"You have blue eyes, though. I mean, honestly, Michiko, you don't even look like you. I told you nobody at all would recognize you. Blue eyes, and the palest milk-white skin I've ever seen…good grief, make sure you don't spend too much time in the sun while you're playing this role. And wow, you are _tall_. I mean, statuesque."

"I sort of thought so, since I can actually look down at you a little now," Michiko observed humorously. "Come on, where's the nearest mirror?"

There was a hail just then from the study and Leslie gasped. "It's too late, I don't have time. Mr. Reardon's here. Quick, just go on out that door, and the first person you see will take you in hand and make sure you get where you have to go."

Michiko sighed. "All right, all right. I'll just have to find a mirror in 1948, I suppose." She teetered a little on the stilettos she was wearing with her skintight, glittery blue dance costume, the "fingers" of its skirt weaving around her legs as she made her way to the indicated door and stepped through.

Leslie quickly let herself into the study and greeted Mitchell Reardon, a handsome man who looked as though he might be around Christian's age or slightly older. "Hello, Mr. Reardon — my apologies for taking a couple extra minutes."

"Not a problem at all, Mrs. Enstad," he assured her. "I'm just really glad to be here. So is it actually going to happen? I'm going to be a leading man in the old MGM stable of the forties and early fifties?"

"That you are," said Leslie, "and you have the perfect name for it, too, so you won't have to assume an alias." She regarded his attire. "You'll have to change your clothing, but it won't be too big a difference. You seem like you could wear clothing from any era well."

Reardon grinned. "Thanks. So tell me something…do I get to go through the publicity machine too? Do interviews, pose for photos and so forth? And I wonder if they had a thing against bachelors, or divorced guys, back then?"

Leslie grinned back, shrugging. "To tell you the truth, I'm not really the one to ask. But you never know what'll happen and what you'll find. Follow me and we'll get you started, so you can have all those questions answered."

Within ten minutes Leslie had sent Mitchell Reardon on his way into his fantasy, and collapsed into Roarke's chair with a sense of relief. For some reason she always felt as if she'd just managed to pull off a big coup when she successfully launched a fantasy. She shot a glance at the grandfather clock, then poked through Roarke's date book to remind herself of the day he and Rogan were scheduled to return.

Lauren came in while Leslie was penciling in fantasies for the following January. "Okay, I'm all set. Let's get down to the amusement park. I'm ready to collect some autographs and meet some super-cool 80s icons."

"Well, that won't take long; we have only three 80s artists performing," said Leslie with a grin. "But you can still get their autographs if they're willing." She arose and crossed the room to call up the stairs to Brianna that they were leaving, then led Lauren out the door and to the rover that sat beside the fountain.

"Mommy! Mommy!" shrieked a child's voice, and both Leslie and Lauren turned to see who it was. Once again it was Karina, this time clutching her plush representation of the _Katrina Kattunga_ title character, now very much the worse for wear. Since her brother and sister and Kevin had finally found it, she refused to let it out of her sight; Leslie had since wondered how Karina could have the toy in the bath with her and yet not get it clean.

"What are you doing out here, young lady?" Leslie inquired indulgently. "I thought Brianna was going to read to you."

"She already did," said Karina. "But now Tobias and Kevin are playing Peter Pan and they're fighting about who's Captain Hook. And Brianna's doing it too. She's being Wendy and Susanna's Tinkerbell…and there's nothing I can be."

Lauren and Leslie looked at each other. "Wait till we tell Maureen," Lauren said with a sly grin. "She'll never believe her oh-so-_mature_ teenager consented to playact with a bunch of four-year-olds."

Leslie giggled. "What with Noelle playing go-fer, maybe she's had the kids to herself long enough to mellow out a little bit." Lauren laughed, and Leslie turned to her daughter. "There's no reason you can't make up a new part, you know."

"I don't wanna," Karina insisted. "Tobias said he'd stab me with his sword if he's Captain Hook. And Susanna said they don't want me in there anyway."

"Round two," muttered Lauren.

Leslie sighed. "Aren't you just counting the days till they all start kindergarten?" she murmured back, and Lauren nodded with emphasis that made them trade rueful grins; then Leslie got out of the car and went to guide Karina across the lane and buckle her into the rover's second seat, smack in the middle. "You make sure you hold onto your Katrina, and don't squirm around. Daddy has the car seats in our car and we don't have time to get out yours, so if you have to, put your Katrina right here between your knees and hold onto those handles on the backs of our seats."

"Okay, Mommy," Karina agreed, willing to concede to any of her mother's edicts as long as she didn't have to go play with her siblings and Kevin. She wedged the battered plush cat in between her thighs, then reached for the two white rope handles that had come installed on the backs of the front seats in rovers since the 90s. She had to lean forward to get hold of them, but when she did, she beamed at Leslie. "I'm ready!"

Leslie had to grin at the sight of her eager little girl going out of her way to be included in the adult activities. "Okay, hold on tight, sweetie." She got into the driver's seat and soon had them on their way to the amusement park.

They had almost made it there when Lauren suddenly paled and wrapped a hand around her stomach. "Oh no," she moaned. "I think I'm gonna barf."

As if compelled, Leslie felt her own stomach roll, and mentally told it to stop horsing around before taking her foot off the accelerator. "Right now?"

"Ewwww," cried Karina from the back seat.

"It just came on all of a sudden," Lauren said, wincing. "Hurry up, please."

Leslie shrugged to herself, pulled the car to the side of the road, and watched for a second or two as Lauren all but fell out and stumbled into the jungle nearest the shoulder. She looked hastily away when her friend bent over and began to retch, and Karina covered her entire face with both hands.

It took several minutes before Lauren lurched back to the car and fell into her seat, face pale, breathing hard. "Well, that takes care of everything I ate since yesterday afternoon, I guess," she muttered. She eyed Leslie apologetically. "Looks like I must've caught whatever Noelle came down with."

Leslie sighed. "That probably means I'll be next," she commented. "We might be able to do without you, but I don't have any backup at all."

"Don't be a dope, of course you do. Give Julie a call," Lauren reminded her. "Not that I _want_ you to use her to replace me. Now that I'm finally off the milk-run circuit, I'm not missing out on the rest of this weekend if I can help it."

Leslie rolled her eyes and grinned. "You sound like me. Every time I got sick, I'd try to hide it from Father. Of course, it never worked, but I was too stubborn to quit." She noticed Lauren's expression, and her grin became a snicker. "Just because of that, I'll let you get away with it till you feel like you're going to drop dead, if that's what you really want."

"Will you really?" Lauren exclaimed. "Wow, Leslie, you're the best."

Leslie snorted. "I'm sure I'll pay for it later — I'll end up being the next one to get this bug, whatever it is." She steered the car back onto the road as she spoke, while Lauren tried to resettle herself into her seat and clutch her stomach at the same time.

At the amusement park, Karina clutched Leslie's hand with one of hers and kept a tight grip on her plush cat with the other; Lauren walked a bit gingerly, still with a hand on her stomach. Leslie had to hand it to Lauren; she did her utmost to keep up while Leslie, with Karina in tow, met up with each of the concert performers for that weekend's schedule, then set up arrangements with the park's workers to open the rides and concessions to the performers till three that afternoon. It took a little over an hour, and Lauren got the autographs she'd wanted, though not without paying the price: before Leslie had quite finished her business at the park, Lauren had to find the nearest ladies' room and bow to the dictates of her irritable stomach.

By suppertime Leslie was exhausted and beginning to feel a little ill herself; she had alerted Julie to be available in case she needed her for anything, and had long since taken Lauren home when Lauren could no longer ignore her condition. Michiko was still deeply involved in the Reardon fantasy, and once Brianna went home for the evening, it left Leslie conducting incidental business while trying to keep the triplets in line. So when Christian appeared at five-thirty, having shut down his office for the day half an hour before, he discovered his wife moving more slowly than usual and looking somewhat pale. He leaned over a bit and peered closely at her. "What's wrong, my Rose?"

Leslie gave him a rueful look. "In a few words…Noelle's been sick, Lauren got it herself earlier today, and now I'm starting to feel under the weather. I had to take Lauren home around two or so, and Michiko's playing a role in a fantasy, and Julie's on standby, and Brianna's gone home, and here I am with these three."

Christian chuckled and gathered her into his embrace. "Well, if it's gotten that bad, I'll just stay here tomorrow as backup…though frankly, I'm not sure what good I can do."

"You never know, my love," Leslie murmured, relieved. "Thank you."

"Mr. Roarke returns after next weekend, doesn't he?" Christian observed, rocking her back and forth a little. "If you do get sick, I expect Julie can step in for you, or if she won't, we can put in an emergency phone call." He pulled back then and studied her. "Exactly where is he, anyway? Neither you nor he ever told me."

"Well, I didn't tell you because I don't know myself. The only thing I remember is that it had to do with amakarna." She noticed his expression curdle and shrugged, absently massaging her stomach. "I know how you feel about it, but really, that's all I know. The one time he's called so far, he didn't tell me where he was calling from."

Christian frowned. "I thought he would have told you, at least. If you don't know where he is, there's no way to get in touch with him. You can only hope he'll find some reason to call here."

"Then I'll just have to muddle through, I suppose," Leslie said with a tired sigh. "As it stands, my appetite's a distant memory. I might just sit in here with some ginger ale while you and the kids have supper, and then try to go to bed early."

"Without checking on the fantasies?" Christian asked.

"I looked in on them a couple of hours ago, and everything's going fine. Michiko's having the time of her life, much to her own surprise, and our guests are reveling in their adventures, of course. I think it'll be safe for the night. If something comes up and I'm feeling too physically beaten down to handle it, I'll call Julie."

"I don't think she'd appreciate a middle-of-the-night summons, my Rose," Christian remarked humorously. "If you find yourself up against an emergency, then just tell me what to do and I'll take care of it for you if you don't feel up to it. Not that I'm any sort of expert, but the point is that I'll do what I can for you, if you need me."

She smiled and hugged him. "That's all I can ask, and it was more than I was expecting, to be honest. Thanks again, my love. Could you keep those imps of ours in line while I try to get some mundane chores done?"

He laughed and acquiesced. "Maybe a good night's sleep is all you'll need." He turned to the children and suggested a storybook, which they agreed to, and Leslie shifted her attention to the assorted bookkeeping and mail-processing tasks, wishing she had some kind of telepathic contact with Roarke. Even he hadn't anticipated this contingency!


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § - September 26, 2008 – near Grottaminarda, Italy

"You're looking unusually smug this morning, m'girl," Rogan remarked to Marina with some suspicion, "What's up your sleeve?"

"My arm," said Marina blankly, staring at him.

Roarke smiled faintly. "Marina, what he wants to know is, what have you been doing that you haven't informed us about? Because I too can see it. This is not the time for prevarication or evasion. If you have any information at all, you must tell us."

Marina muttered something in Italian and sighed, glancing between them; but there was something in the sparkle of her eyes that refused to be dimmed, no matter what. "I'm almost certain I've cured myself of the need for amakarna."

Both men stilled and stared at her. Rogan seemed rendered permanently speechless, so Roarke spoke first, his tone harsh. "How can you be certain, first of all?"

"I've gone without taking even the distillate for ten straight days," Marina told him, "and as you can see, I'm still in perfect health, with no sign of withdrawal or collateral damage. I've had no side effects at all."

"And what, then, are you using that you believe negates the daily need?" asked Roarke in a quiet, ominous voice.

"The plant known in English as jimsonweed," she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Some of it grows wild here, and I've been working on preparing a concoction made from its leaves. I've actually noticed this for some time now, that it has certain properties that might be useful against the effects of amakarna…"

"Little girl, you've lost your mind!" Rogan exploded at that moment. "Don't you know that plant is poisonous? Not to mention a known hallucinogenic!"

"I wanted to try other such plants," Marina told him, now speaking in a rush, in an evident attempt to provide a full explanation before they could condemn her choice of antidote. "Nothing worked as well as this one did, and since it doesn't seem to be addictive, I can use it without worrying that I'm moving from one dependent substance to another. I've used only a bare few drops. I started with one, then later with two, and this last week I've been taking three. It's that dosage that seems to be working. I stopped taking the amakarna distillate that makes the spice essential to health, and since I've taken the jimsonweed extract, I've had no need for the spice or the pure distillate."

"Aye," muttered Rogan with a black glare, "but what happens when you stop using the jimsonweed? Have y'come that far yet, little girl? Because if not, you can't go crowing about your success."

Marina looked thwarted. "We had only so much time, and I had to rush things so that I could get some answers while Giancarlo is away." At that precise second a phone rang, and she hurried out to the overfurnished lounge room to answer it.

Roarke shook his head. "I'm afraid we have no choice, Rogan. I don't care for her methods, but it sounds to me as if Marina is onto something here, and we're nearly out of time. It's my suggestion that we depart for Fantasy Island tomorrow, with Marina and her son, as soon as I am able to get the count back here to the villa. On the island, we'll have the hospital at ready hand, with its resident physicians and nurses. And something tells me that this apparent solution of hers addresses only one aspect — the addictive property."

Marina came back in, her face pale. "We have to leave as soon as possible. That was Giancarlo: he's returning here Saturday."

"That does it," grumbled Rogan. "Start packing, little girl. We leave tomorrow, as uncle has just decided. We'll get your father and your son back here so you can bring the lad with you, but we leave tomorrow no matter what."

They spent a frantic night packing everything from Marina's hideaway; by the next morning the count and his grandson had returned to the villa. "What's so urgent that you insisted I bring the child back here?" LiSciola demanded.

"We leave tonight," Roarke informed him and filled him in on the pertinent details. "It appears that Marina may have stumbled upon something that could be effective in combating the use of black lightning, but we dare not remain to investigate this further; so she is accompanying us back to Fantasy Island, and has asked to bring young Lucan along."

"Leaving me here with that black-hearted young weed of hers?" LiSciola burst out. "Roarke, if you have any compassion at all — "

"You are not allowed to go," Roarke reminded him, overriding his protests. "You have a certain bargain to live up to, if you think back a few years." He eyed LiSciola till the count's expression became one of dismayed realization. "Good."

"Are you telling us you can't handle your son-in-law on your own and you need help?" Rogan asked with the slightest of grins. "I thought he was but a mere mortal and you, the patriarch of what remains of the mighty LiSciola clan. Or were all your powers used up?"

LiSciola growled, "I'll handle the weed on my own. I just don't look forward to it, that's all. That boy is becoming more evil by the day, I tell you."

"I have no doubt you have resources you can call upon, if you find it necessary," said Roarke serenely. "Have no fear, your daughter and grandson will return to you safe and sound…when we have found our solution."

LiSciola called a taxi, grumbling all the while, and waited till it had arrived before calling for Marina and Lucan. Roarke and Rogan began gathering up luggage and carefully packed containers; but just as they stepped out the door, Lucan ran in, yelling in Italian. The men paused, and LiSciola tuned in to the boy, his eyes widening. "What is it?" Rogan asked.

"Marina can't move on her own," the count exclaimed. "Lucan tells me she shakes all over and is unable to walk without holding onto something."

"She was wrong," Rogan snarled. "I knew there was more to her so-called cure than just taking a few drops of that plant's oils. LiSciola, give her a supply of amakarna and a piece of fruit. She'll have to eat on the way to the airport." LiSciola hurried off with Lucan in his wake, and Rogan stared at Roarke. "I'm startin' to think this is a wild-goose chase."

"No, I don't believe it is," Roarke said slowly, contemplating. "I believe that Marina may well be onto something, and that it's worth pursuing. She simply went about it the wrong way, in her eagerness to make progress. When we're back on Fantasy Island, we'll have the wherewithal to truly find some answers." He smiled reassuringly at Rogan and made his way to the taxi, realizing as he did that he was happy to be going back to his longtime home. Something major was in the offing: his intuition told him so, and he had learned over a very long lifetime to trust it. But how rocky the road to that solution? Only time, and a lot of tedious experimentation, would tell.

* * *

><p><em>Needless to say, there's more to come! Several people are going to get some rather rude shocks once Roarke and Rogan bring Marina and her son to the island, and they don't all have to do with amakarna, either. Keep watching for the next installment in this tale; meantime, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, and see you in 2015!<em>


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